


the pros and cons of breathing

by endlessnighttimesky



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Blowjobs, Cute, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, handjobs, sick!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 01:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnighttimesky/pseuds/endlessnighttimesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Frank is really grateful for his failure of an immune system.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the pros and cons of breathing

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Fall Out Boy.

Frank feels it as soon as he wakes up. His throat is thick and raw, his head is pounding, and his limbs feel like they all weigh a ton each. It’s nothing he hasn’t felt before, but having your immune system fail you time and time again never really gets fun. Actually, it sucks just as hard every time it happens, and Frank is sure this time won’t be an exception.

He stares at the ceiling of his bunk for a while, contemplating telling the guys about what’s probably the beginning of yet another case of bronchitis or pneumonia or whatever the fuck else his body can’t fight off. He knows that if he tells them, Gerard will ban him from playing the show tonight, or possibly even cancel it, and Frank just can’t let that happen. If there’s anyone who shouldn’t have to suffer due to Frank’s low amount of white blood cells, it’s the fans.

So, in conclusion, he’s not going to tell anyone. There’s always the chance that he’ll feel better tonight, right? Okay, probably not, but there’s always hope.

He sighs and rolls out of his bunk, and all hope he might’ve had of hiding his sickly state is crushed, because the motion seems to loosen some of the mucus in his lungs and before he knows it he’s doubling over in a coughing fit.

“Frankie?” Gerard’s worried voice comes from behind the curtain of his bunk. He pulls it away, revealing an equally worried face, and then he’s on his feet next to Frank in a matter of seconds. Frank wants to wipe that concern of Gerard’s face somehow, wants to tell him that he’ll be fine, but all he manages is more coughing.

Gerard looks as helpless as he always does when Frank has a coughing fit, because there isn’t really anything he can do but wait it out. It’s over pretty soon though, and as soon as Frank can breathe properly again, Gerard has him cradled against his chest. His fingers are moving in Frank’s hair just the way he likes it when he’s sick, and Frank can’t help but lean into the touch. Frank inhales deeply a few times and leans against Gerard for a while, breath warm and damp on Gerard’s neck.

“You think you can play tonight?” Gerard asks softly, words coming out muffled as his mouth is pressed against the top of Frank’s head. He doesn’t bother asking Frank if he _is_ sick, because whether he is or not the answer will always be no, and that coughing fit pretty much explains it anyway.

“Mm,” Frank mumbles, snuggling closer and burying his face in Gerard’s neck.

“Okay,” Gerard says, although he knows the only way to find out is to wait until show time and see how Frank feels then. “You wanna watch a movie with me?”

Frank smiles into Gerard’s t-shirt, because no matter how much Gerard might worry when Frank’s sick, he’s also amazing at taking care of him when it happens. Frank knows part of it is just plain experience, but then there’s the rest of it that Frank doesn’t really know what it is, just that it’s amazing and he’s really lucky to have access to it.

“Yeah,” Frank says and shuffles over to the couch, pulling his comforter with him. Gerard stops in the kitchen to make Frank some Theraflu while Frank picks out a movie, and then crawls into the corner of the couch after placing the glass on the table.

“C’mere,” Gerard says, patting the space between his legs. Frank sits down and scoots back until his back is against Gerard’s chest. He sinks down a little, making himself comfortable, which isn’t that hard because Gerard gives the absolute best cuddles, in like, the history of the earth, Frank is sure.

“Here,” Gerard says once Frank’s settled, reaching for the glass and bottle of Tylenol on table and giving it to Frank.

“Thanks,” Frank says. He grabs the pills out of Gerard’s hand and swallows them with a gulp of the Theraflu, whining a little as his throat burns. “God knows what I’d do without you.”

Gerard smiles and wraps his right arm around Frank’s waist, while he brings his left hand up to stroke his hair. “You’d probably manage. You’re good at being sick.”

“I wish I wasn’t,” Frank mumbles.

“I know, Frankie,” Gerard says softly. He wants to take away all Frank’s pain, wants to heal his body and never let him get sick again. But he knows he can’t, so he settles for just holding him while they watch The Shining.

§ § §

The rest of the morning turns out to be just as slow as the start of it, with Bob, Ray and eventually Mikey dragging themselves out of their bunks to almost fall asleep again in their respective cereal bowls.

“Iero’s getting sick again?” Bob asks through a mouth of Lucky Charms, nodding towards Frank’s prostrate body in Gerard’s lap.

“Yeah,” Gerard says, petting Frank’s head. Frank subconsciously leans into the touch, shifting on the couch until he’s got his cheek pressed against Gerard’s chest. “Think it might be the beginning of another bout of pneumonia.”

Bob groans on behalf of Frank. “That shit blows.”

“He’s gonna play tonight though,” Gerard says, tone implying that he’s pretty much willing to handcuff Frank to a chair if it made him get healthy faster.

“It’s  _Frank_ ,” Bob says. “There’s not really much else to expect. You know how he is when it comes to the fans. He’d do fucking anything for them.”

“I know,” Gerard says. “I just… He doesn’t need to run himself into the ground for them, you know? They’ll still love him. I wish he’d just let himself actually  _be_  sick when he is sick. It always gets so drawn out.”

“He’s sick  _again_?” Ray asks as he walks into the lounge, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Gerard nods. “He woke me up with a coughing fit. He’s got a sore throat and a headache, too. I think it might be another one of those cold-turning-into-flu-turning-into-pneumonia cases.”

“He’s not gonna stay backstage tonight though, is he?”

Gerard gives a small grin. “What do you think?”

Ray chuckles and turns to get another pot of coffee going, because Mikey’s going to be up soon and dealing with sick Frank is hard enough, they don’t need a grumpy-due-to-caffeine-withdrawal Mikey on top of that. “I think he’s going to play just as hard as he does every night, and then he’s going to wake up tomorrow feeling like death warmed over, like he does every other time he gets like this.”

“Maybe we can make him drink a fuckload of Robitussin and then he’ll pass out before we even get to the venue,” Bob suggests with a grin. “And even if he doesn’t fall asleep, at least he’ll stay away from my set.”

Gerard rolls his eyes at him. “We’re not drugging him.”

“He probably wouldn’t even react anyway, the hyper little fucker,” Bob says.

Gerard has to admit, Bob’s probably right when he says that. If there’s anything Frank’s known for except his guitar skills and tiny size, it’s his goddamn energy. Gerard would know, since he’s usually the person Frank wastes the most energy on every night (and not in the way Gerard would like him to… though that’s a discussion for another time).

§ § § 

They arrive at the venue around two in the afternoon, which means they’ve still got some time to kill before soundcheck. Gerard thinks those hours should be spent finding Frank a doctor, something Frank strongly disagrees to.

“I’m  _fine_ , Gee,” he says for the sixth time, with as much emphasis as he can muster up with his sore throat. He flings himself onto the couch and wraps his comforter tighter around him. “I’m not dying.”

“You have pneumonia, Frank,” Gerard says and goes to sit by Frank’s feet. “You need antibiotics.”

“You don’t know if it’s pneumonia,” Frank protests, although not very convincingly, because his chest is hurting in that hey-fucker-you’ve-got-pneumonia way, and he knows Gerard knows that too.

“No, it could be bronchitis too,” Gerard snaps. Then, in a softer tone, he says, “In which case there’s still a chance you’ll need antibiotics.”

“Okay, let’s make a deal,” Frank says, sitting up on the couch and fighting to hide how much the sudden elevation hurts his head. He knows it futile though, because once Gerard’s really focused on something (or worried, which makes him focused), he notices everything.

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” Gerard asks, eyes narrow as he looks at Frank.

“Probably,” Frank grins. “But here’s the deal: if I let you take me to a doctor, you’ll let me play tonight.”

Gerard sighs. “That’s not up to me, Frankie. That’s why you’ve gotta see a doctor.”

Frank scrambles under his comforter until he’s all up in Gerard’s personal space. There’s only a few inches separating their faces, and Frank can smell the fresh smoke on Gerard’s breath. Fuck, he’s never wanted a cigarette this bad in his fucking life.

“You know I never listen to doctors,” Frank says.

Gerard snorts. “And since when do you listen to me?”

“Since fucking forever, Gee, you know that,” Frank says honestly, eyes large and sparkling. Gerard can almost  _feel_  his resistance crumble under Frank’s gaze. “I would never do something you truly disapprove of.”

Gerard sighs. “Puppy dog eyes are foul play,” he mutters, which of course only makes Frank bat his lashes even more. “But  _fine_. Play the fucking show, just see a fucking doctor first.”

The smile Frank gives Gerard then could probably light up the earth for the next the thousand years or so. “This is why I love you,” he says and envelops Gerard in a bone-crushing hug, making Gerard wonder exactly how someone so tiny becomes so strong.

“Yeah, whatever, go put some clothes on.”

With a wounded expression on his face, Frank pulls back, fixing Gerard with his stare.

Gerard rolls his eyes and leans forward, mumbling, “I love you too,” against Frank’s forehead.

Frank grins again and bounds off (as quickly as he can with a cough and aching limbs) in search for some clothes.

§ § §

Frank falls asleep on Gerard in the taxi on their way to the hospital, and once again once they’re seated in the waiting room.

“Frank Iero?” a nurse calls out, and Frank stirs a little beside Gerard, but doesn’t wake up.

“Frankie, c’mon, wake up,” Gerard says, shaking him slightly.

“’S my turn?” Frank slurs.

“Yeah, c’mon, get up,” Gerard instructs, but he doesn’t move himself.

“Nuh-uh,” Frank says, grabbing Gerard’s hand and pulling him out of his chair. “You’re coming with me.”

“But…” Gerard starts helplessly. “ _Needles_.”

“I’ll hold your fucking hand, okay?” Frank grumbles, pulling Gerard along through the waiting room and up to the nurse. He gives her a bright smile as he squeezes Gerard’s trembling hand, then walks after her as the nurse guides them through colorless, winding hallways until they’re in a doctor’s office.

“Dr. Greenfield will be here in a moment,” she says with a smile before disappearing out into the corridor.

Dr. Greenfield opens the door only a minute or two later, and he asks Frank a bunch of questions about symptoms, general health and previous infections. Gerard helps out on a few, because Frank never really remembers exactly when he’s gotten sick before, because it happens so often that he just doesn’t bother keeping track anymore.

The doctor then listens to Frank’s breathing through a stethoscope, and just the sight of all that polished steel is enough to make Gerard feel a little nauseated. Frank is there though, squeezing his hand where it’s lying in Frank’s lap, and just that touch is enough for Gerard to suppress the nausea and relax.

“I can hear some faint crackles, and your breathing is obviously impaired,” the doctor says, rolling back on is chair to scribble some notes in a journal. “Judging by the state of your immune system and your earlier infections, I think it would be safe to prescribe you antibiotics without doing an X-ray.”

“Okay,” Frank says cheerily, although he can’t really manage that much cheer with a congested nose and hurting throat. Either way, he’s happy to be out of the hospital as quickly as possible, because Gerard is looking pale and green at the same time.

The doctor gives Frank instructions on how to retrieve his medicines, and is then sent on his way with an order to stay in bed and take it easy for a couple of days.

“Um, about that,” Frank says just as they’re about to leave. “Our band has a show tonight and well, I want to play. So, is there like, any chance I could?”

Dr. Greenfield looks unsure, but then gives a cautious nod. “If you don’t jump around and exhaust yourself, I think you should be fine. You’ll probably feel awful tomorrow, but I suppose you will anyway.”

Frank smirks at Gerard –  _told you so_  – who just rolls his eyes.

“I promise to take it easy, okay?” he says in an attempt to calm Gerard on their way out.

“I’ll duct tape you to the stage floor if you don’t, so I think we’ll be fine,” Gerard says loftily before he waves at a passing cab. It pulls over and he ushers Frank in.

“Really, though,” Frank says as sinks down in the seat next to Gerard. “It’s not like I want to make it worse, I just don’t think it’s fair to the fans, you know?”

“I know, Frankie,” Gerard says, knowing that there’s no point in arguing. “Promise me you’ll be careful though? And as soon as it becomes too much, you tell me and we’ll get Matt to take over, okay?”

“I promise, Gee,” Frank says, and then he’s pretty much out like a light, drooling on Gerard’s leather jacket.

§ § § 

Frank plays all his parts lying down on the stage during soundcheck, flat on his back and with his eyes closed. Gerard marvels at how he remembers every chord, how his fingers move over the frets without any visual guidance.

“You sure about this?” he asks once they’re backstage. Frank is curled up on the couch in the dressing room, feet resting in Gerard’s lap as he drinks bottle after bottle of Gatorade.

“Yes,” Frank says. “The doc’s on standby with a team of fucking paramedics and Cortez is ready to replace me if anything happens. Which it won’t, because I’m  _fine_.”

“You’re not doing vocals though, are you?” Gerard asks.

“No,” Frank says. “If I do I probably won’t be able to talk tomorrow.”

This brings a smirk to Gerard’s lips. “Maybe we should keep you on vocals and then we can have some peace and quiet for a few days.”

Frank kicks Gerard’s thigh and sticks his tongue out at him. He’s about to say something insulting about Gerard’s mom, but then Brian pokes his head in the door and tells them five minutes, which means that if you’re Mikey, Ray or Frank you have to do a last checkup of your instrument, and if you’re Bob you should already be onstage, and if you’re Gerard you just have to wait around until everyone gets their earpieces and it’s showtime.

Brian ushers them into the corridor, and they all move quickly to the side of the stage. This time, Frank is the calmest of them all, which is something that only happens when he’s like this. Usually he’s already jumping around by now, riled up with adrenaline and energy waiting to be let out onstage.

They get their earpieces, and the techs get Frank, Ray and Mikey their instruments, and then they’re out on the stage, tearing through I’m Not Okay beneath bright lights and with a crowd who sings along through the entire song.

§ § §

They’re just one song away from the break before the encore when Frank feels his chest constrict, and all of a sudden a pressing pain in his lungs accompanies every breath he takes. He knows he told Gerard that as soon as he felt worse he’d tell him, but he can still breathe, it just hurts a little. So he suffers through the next song, then flees backstage before Gerard can even thank the audience.

The tour doc has a hand on Frank’s shoulder and is coaxing him down to the floor before Frank can even tell him what the problem is. He probably already knows though, if Frank’s labored breathing is anything to go by. There’s some shouting and a lot of people moving, and then Frank’s leaning against the wall with an oxygen mask strapped to his face.

“Frank!” Gerard presses his way through the techs and paramedics and falls to his knees beside Frank’s exhausted body. “You said you’d tell me if anything happened!” His voice is panicked, and Frank thinks he can see tears forming in his eyes. Though those might just be his own; his chest is less constricted, but taking deep breaths still hurts.

“It’s… I’m fine, Gee, seriously. Just… need to breathe… for a while.”

“I thought you promised to take it fucking easy,” Mikey says as he approaches them, bass slung over his back and cheeks tinted pink from the spotlights.

“You’re gonna run yourself into the ground if you continue like this, you know,” Ray says, hair bobbing like it a living creature.

“You’re an idiot,” Bob says. He’s never been a man of many words, but he probably gets the point across the best.

Frank nods, because he  _knows_ , okay? He knows how stupidly stubborn he’s being, but he can still hear the audience, can hear  _their_   _fans_  mumble worriedly to each other, wondering  _what the hell is taking so fucking long, they’re still doing the encore, right_?

“You know what I think,” Gerard says simply, because another thing Frank knows is that if it was up to Gerard, they would stop the rest of the concert and then they’d all retreat to the bus and Frank would  _rest_.

But it’s not up to Gerard; it’s up to Frank and his body, specifically his lungs. And they’re actually feeling fine, now that he’s got the fresh oxygen to breathe. They don’t hurt as much, and breathing feels much easier.

So Frank makes a decision; he gives his band the most comforting look he can physically manage, before he grabs the oxygen cylinder and carries it out onto the stage. The audience cheers loudly at the sight of Frank, but gasps at the sight of him with an oxygen mask on his face and a cylinder in his hand.

Then Gerard walks out, and the audience fucking  _screams_ , even more so as he walks over to Frank and leans in close. “You sure about this?” he asks.

Frank nods and looks out at all the sweaty, smiling teenagers, and he can’t help but mimic their expressions. He lifts the mask aside to tell Gerard that he’ll be fine, that he’ll stay still for the encore and sit down on the edge of the stage if he feels himself getting weak.

“And the mask?” Gerard asks.

“I can play the songs with a fucking blindfold, the mask won’t be a problem,” Frank says before he gives Gerard an encouraging smile and nudges him towards the center of the stage. “Now go tell them why one of your guitarists looks like he should be in the ER. And tell them that I love them, okay?”

Gerard can’t suppress the smile he feels spreading over his lips at that, and just nods before he sashays off to his mic stand. Frank watches his back as he slips the mask back on, then smiles the best he can at Mikey, Ray and Bob as they walk out.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Mikey tells him as he walks past, but he’s grinning too.

“Don’t die, okay?” Ray tells Frank, and Frank promises he won’t.

Bob just gives him a look from behind his set, which is sort of a combination of what both Mikey and Ray said, and Frank grins back at him.

“Okay!” Gerard says into his mic, voice booming throughout the stadium and catching the audience’s attention. “So, Frankie here’s got pneumonia, but because he loves you all, he’s not gonna go rest like he should. Instead he’s gonna play the rest of the show with us, and you’ll all cheer for him, yeah? Because he’s going to feel like shit tomorrow and needs all your beautiful voices to get him through it. So, after I count to three, you’ll all scream ‘Get well, Frankie!’ Okay? One, two, three!”

The crowd shouts, “Get well, Frankie!” at the top of their lungs, voices ringing through the venue. Frank feels like he could cry, and he wishes he could talk to every single member of the audience, wishes he could thank them all individually and give them a hug. But he knows he can’t, so he just settles for just giving them all the biggest smile he can manage before taking off into the intro of Thank You For The Venom.

§ § §

Everyone was right; Frank feels like dying the next morning. Every breath he takes is shallow and painful, and his head feels like it’s going to fall off and then explode into a million tiny pieces. There isn’t any part of his body that doesn’t hurt, and his joints are aching like they would in a senior citizen.

He’s fucking blessed to have his band though, because Gerard crawls into Frank’s bunk and then pets his head until he falls asleep, and Bob makes him cereal and Theraflu in the morning, and then Ray keeps him company and reads the new issue of Guitar Mag with him and they geek out over the new Epiphone together, and Mikey watches Star Wars with him all day. It’s awesome, even though Frank falls asleep like three times during The Phantom Menace.

The sun is glowing orange on the horizon and the sky is darkening when Gerard plops down by Frank’s feet on the couch. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Like I was run over by a truck,” Frank says, but there’s a smile on his face, because he can still hear the crowd’s voices in his head, egging him on and shouting for him to get better.

“It was worth it, then?”

“Totally,” Frank says cheerily. “Now come cuddle with me. You can be the big spoon.”

Gerard smiles too, and fits himself between the couch and Frank, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close to his chest.

“You’re really stupid, you know that, right?” he mumbles in Frank’s ear.

“Yeah,” Frank says, putting his hand over Gerard’s on his stomach. “But you still love me, so what does it matter?”

Gerard laughs and kisses the back of Frank’s head before Frank falls asleep to the sound of Gerard’s calm breathing.

§ § §

The next day Frank does skip the show. He can barely stand up without falling over, and he’s already fainted two times, and it’s just impossible for him to go through with another show. Although it’s his own decision, he still mopes about it in the dressing room. He doesn’t get to do it for very long though, because he’s been drinking liters of Gatorade, and going to the bathroom takes enough energy for him to be exhausted once he flings himself onto the couch again.

“I’ll come in before the encore, okay?” Gerard says as he leans down pet Frank’s hair.

“Mm,” Frank mumbles sleepily. “Tell the fans I miss ‘em.”

“I’ll make them shout until you can hear it from here,” Gerard promises.

Frank smiles. “You’re the best, Gee.”

“You too,” Gerard says softly before Brian pulls him out of the dressing room so he can get his earpieces.

Frank falls asleep pretty quickly after that, but stirs awake as the guys barge into the dressing room. Gerard is kneeling down by his head pretty much immediately, and Mikey flops onto the couch, narrowly avoiding sitting on Frank’s feet.

“Hey,” Gerard says, stroking some hair away from Frank’s forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” Frank says, but Mikey kicks foot and Frank glares at him. “Okay, well, I’m not feeling  _worse_ , anyway.”

Gerard eyes are still large and concerned, but that’s pretty much his regular look, so Frank doesn’t worry too much.

“He’ll be fine, Gee,” Mikey says after watching Frank for a while. “The swelling is decreasing.”

“How’d you know that?” Frank and Gerard ask simultaneously. They look at each other with confusion, and then back at Mikey, who rolls his eyes at both of them.

“The only one I’ve known for longer than Frank is you, Gee, and I can tell from your t-shirt what you had for dinner yesterday,” Mikey says exasperatedly before looking at Frank. “Your breathing’s not as harsh anymore, and your right side expands more when you breathe. The swelling’s decreasing.”

Frank brings up a cautious hand to prod at his own chest, and is fascinated to find that the soreness he felt just under the right side of his ribcage is mostly gone. “He’s right,” he says with a hint of awe in his voice.

“Well, that’s great then, Frankie,” Gerard says. “But you should still rest.”

“I  _know_ ,” Frank says, going all in with the teenager-with-an-embarrassing-parent tone.

“Yeah, but you also know not to play a show if you can’t breathe without an oxygen mask and we all know how well  _that_  went,” Gerard says.

“Fuck you,” Frank says.

“Three minutes, guys!” Brian says, poking his head through the door. “How’re you doing, Frankie?”

“Awesome,” Frank replies with a grin, because despite the pain and exhaustion, touring and being with his band is really what he lives for, and he’s still doing that, even with his failure of an immune system.

“Good. Can’t have my rhythm guitarist die on tour, you know,” Brian says.

“What, so we can die when we’re not touring?” Gerard says, pretending to be hurt.

“Fine with me,” Brian says. “But come on now, two minutes!” He disappears into the hallway again and the guys go after him, giving Frank instructions not to die on their way out.

Frank waits for Mikey to start the intro of The Sharpest Lives before he sneaks out of the dressing room, going past the techs until he’s by the side of the stage.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Brian says before he even turns around to look at Frank, and Frank wonders how the hell he could even hear him coming over the music.

“I know,” Frank says, but he doesn’t make any effort to move, and Brian doesn’t tell him again. Instead, Frank sinks down to the floor, leaning against the wall while he watches everyone go wild; Gerard, Ray, Mikey, Bob, Matt and of course, the crowd. They’re singing every word back to Gerard, jumping and shouting and even crying, a few of them. Frank still feels weird about watching his band from the sidelines, but as the show goes on he notices that it’s actually kind of nice, to be able to take the time to just  _observe_ , without having to concentrate on playing and singing at the same time.

The guys tear through another couple of songs, and the anticipation builds slowly in his stomach, because the final song is Cancer, and he always stays behind to watch Gerard sing it.

“You’re gonna watch him?” Mikey asks after he hands his bass to one of the techs, pulling Frank off the floor.

“Yeah,” Frank answers, before he envelops Mikey and the rest of the guys in a hug, just like they always do after a show. He’s delighted to find that even when he doesn’t participate onstage, he’s still as much a part of the band as he when he does. “Awesome show, by the way. You’re all amazing.” He then thanks Matt profusely, tells him how much of an amazing job he did, because really, that guy can  _play_.

By the time the sound of a piano starts ringing throughout the arena, Frank is seated on the floor again, already mesmerized by Gerard, even though he hasn’t even started singing yet. Frank can’t help but feel proud of him, because he still remembers the days where Gerard wouldn’t even think about going onstage without being drunk out of his mind first. But he’s come so far since then, and sure, it’s been a hell of a ride, and not always in the good way, but they got here  _together_ , and that’s the only thing that really matters.

When Gerard starts singing, that pride Frank feels evolves into something else, something stronger, deeper. If Frank is to be completely honest, he’s felt it before, but then it’s always been like a nagging voice in the back of his mind, a dull ache in his chest, easy to ignore. But now, all of a sudden, it’s so much more than that, and Frank has no idea why. It’s like he’s been punched in the face, kicked in the gut and he feels immobile, like he can’t breathe, and this time it’s not because of some infection. It’s not physical anymore, and while it maybe should scare the shit out of him, these feelings he seem to have developed for his best friend, he just can’t force himself to be afraid. Instead it feels like it’s about time, like he should do something.

He contemplates all of this while he watches Gerard, thinking about how, when, where, and sometimes even why. Because why can’t he just settle with being best friends, why can’t he just accept that they’ll never go beyond that?

He doesn’t get to think much more about it though, because all of a sudden the piano fades out, together with Gerard’s voice, and then he’s right there, sweaty and smiling and just so fucking  _beautiful_ , and Frank just can’t take it, can’t pretend that he doesn’t want more.

So he lets Gerard pull him up, but doesn’t let Gerard’s hand go when he’s on his feet. Instead he just pulls him closer, until they’re chest-to-chest and nose-to-nose. Frank leans in the last inch, and then they’re mouth-to-mouth too, and god, have Frank waited for this moment or what?

The thing is, he has never really though about anything  _beyond_  that moment, so he really doesn’t expect Gerard to push him up against the wall and kiss him like Frank’s lips are his sole reason to live. He doesn’t expect his hands to worm their way under Frank’s t-shirt and press against the soft skin at the small of his back; hell, he doesn’t even expect  _himself_  to wrap his arms around Gerard’s neck and kiss him like that’s all he’s ever wanted to do, which it pretty much is.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Gerard breathes against the corner of Frank’s mouth as he pulls away. “You have no idea.”

“I think I do,” Frank mumbles. He’s just about to lean in for another kiss, but then all of a sudden Brian is ushering them towards a tech who takes Gerard’s earpieces out before they can even ask Brian what’s going on.

“Sorry to interrupt your moment, but bus call was five minutes ago,” he says as he pushes them through a door that leas out to the parking lot.

“Aren’t you going to tell us how we can’t let this affect the band?” Gerard asks.

“If you’re gonna fuck up the band then it won’t matter if you’re fucking each other too,” Brian says. “Anyway, it was just a matter of time.”

“What’s  _that_  supposed to mean?” Gerard says.

“As if you don’t fucking know,” Brian says, then pushes them into the bus and closes the door behind them.

Frank and Gerard are met by three knowing smirks; Ray, Bob and Mikey are seated around the table, all wearing expressions saying that they know exactly why Frank and Gerard were late for bus call.

“I hate you all,” Frank says before he pulls a confused Gerard through the bus and into the back lounge. He slams the door close and presses Gerard up against it, but he can still hear Ray call out, “Don’t get come on the couch!”

“Fuck you!” Frank screams back as Mikey wails, “You’re going to give me nightmares, Ray!” before Ray shouts, “Ow, fucker!” after Mikey punches him. It’s vague though, because Frank has a hard time focusing on anything else but Gerard’s ragged breaths as Frank sucks bruises onto his neck.

“Frankie, fuck,” Gerard moans as Frank flicks his tongue over his collarbone. “Frankie, we shouldn’t – we can’t – Frank, stop.”

“Gee, no, please,” Frank whines. He tries to attach his mouth to Gerard’s skin again, but Gerard has a firm grip around his upper arms and is keeping him away.

“You’re sick, Frankie,” Gerard says, eyes all huge and concerned. “We should wait until you’re healthy again.”

“And you should shower more than twice a month, but I don’t see that happening,” Frank says, knowing that he’s behaving like a child, but Gerard is treating him like a child, so whatever.

“Frankie,” Gerard says, tilting his head. His voice is this strange combination between disappointed, needy, authoritative and pleading, and Frank doesn’t really know what to do with it.

“Okay,” Frank says eventually. He places his hand on top of Gerard’s hair and guides his head down until his ear is pressed against the right side of his chest. “Listen to it. It could be better, but it could also be so much worse. But Mikey was right; the swelling is going down.”

He’s quiet while Gerard listens to his lungs – and heart, apparently, because after being silent for a moment, Gerard mumbles, “Your heart is beating really fast. Is – is that me?”

Frank smiles and leans down to kiss the top of Gerard’s head. “Only you,” he mumbles into Gerard’s hair.

“I love you,” Gerard says as he stands up straight. He places his hands on Frank’s hips and pulls him to the couch, where Frank straddles Gerard’s lap and wraps his arms around his neck again.

“I love you too,” Frank whispers. He rubs their noses together in an Eskimo kiss, which for a long time has been their way to comfort each other, to silently promise that everything’s going to be all right. Frank is impatient to try out their new way of doing the same though, so he eventually presses his lips to Gerard’s, catching them in an almost chaste kiss.

Innocence never lasts long when you’re around Gerard though, so it’s just a matter of time before he’s grinding up and moaning into Frank’s mouth.

“Okay, I think I can compromise,” he pants as the break apart.

Frank leans back with a questioning look on his face. “I’m open for suggestions.”

“Tomorrow’s a hotel night,” Gerard says, making Frank groan in pleasure just at the mention of it. “Tonight I’ll sleep in your bunk.”

“Mm,” Frank says and kisses Gerard again. “I like the sound of that.”

After making out in the lounge some more (because Mikey will inevitably punch them if they slobber all over each other where he can see them), they creep out into the bunk area. It turns out Mikey is already asleep, but they get their fair share of knowing smirks from Ray and Bob.

“You all suck,” Frank tells them before he can stop himself.

“Not as much as you will do,” Bob says casually, not taking his eyes of whatever video games he’s busy beating Ray in.

“You’re okay with it, though?” Gerard asks, voice cautious. “The whole… thing? Me and Frank?”

“We’ve been ‘okay with it’ for the past year or so,” Bob says. “We were just wondering when you two would start being it too.”

There’s another question on the tip of Gerard’s tongue, but he doesn’t quite dare to ask it, so instead he just glances hopefully towards Mikey’s bunk.

“He’s fine with it too,” Ray says with an honest smile. “He’s really happy for you.”

“Concentrate, Toro, I’m beating your ass here,” Bob says, and then Ray’s focus is back on the TV screen.

Gerard turns back to Frank, who’s currently only in his boxers because he doesn’t sleep in pajamas like normal people do. Gerard can’t really say he minds though, especially not when Frank crawls into his bunk and Gerard gets a full-on view of his ass.

“Stop staring at my ass and get in here,” Frank says and tugs at Gerard’s t-shirt until he’s horizontal beside him on the mattress.

“Hi,” Gerard says softly and wraps an arm tightly around Frank’s waist, pulling him close. That’s when he feels it, hot and hard against his thigh. “Fuck, Frankie, seriously?”

“Can’t help it, dude,” Frank laughs. “You’re pretty.”

Gerard giggles at that; an actual giggle, high-pitched and girly. Frank thinks it’s adorable.

“We’re gonna have to something about that, then?” Gerard says, hand moving lazily over Frank’s stomach, fingertips brushing against the waistband of Frank’s boxers.

“Please,” Frank begs, lips pressed against the corner of Gerard’s mouth. “Fuck, Gee, just fucking –  _fuck._ ”

Gerard grins; he never would’ve imagined him putting his hand down Frank’s pants would have such an effect on him. But obviously it has, because as he wraps his hand around Frank’s cock, he also has to move a hand to Frank's mouth for him suck on, or else they’re going to wake Mikey.

Frank moans around Gerard’s fingers all the way through, and bites down on them as he comes. He doesn’t scramble on the sheets to reciprocate, since Gerard probably won’t let him. He doesn’t really understand why, because handjobs aren’t really that exhausting, but it’s Gerard, and his logic isn’t always… logical.

“Fuck, Gee,” Frank pants against Gerard’s neck as his orgasm ripples through his body. “You’re just – oh god, I don’t even know. Perfect. I love you.”

“I love you too, Frankie,” Gerard whispers. “Sleep now, babe. Tomorrow will be good, I promise.”

“You’re not making sleeping any easier by saying that,” Frank says as he tugs his boxers up over his hips again. He can’t really be bothered to care about the fact that he’s lying in the wet spot, because Gerard is all warm and soft skin beside him and he has a hard time focusing on anything else.

“It will be though,” Gerard says, then in a lower, rawer tone against Frank’s lips, “So good, Frankie, trust me.”

Frank shudders. “It better fucking be because I’m going to be hard until then,” he says.

“You’re cute when you’re needy,” Gerard says. “Maybe I should keep you like this for a while longer…”

“You very much  _shouldn’t_ ,” Frank protests loudly.

“Would you do it though?” Gerard asks. “Not come until I tell you?”

Frank averts his gaze and bites his lip. “I’d do anything you tell me to do,” he mumbles.

A hot, pleasured sound escapes from Gerard’s lips, and Frank can’t really bring himself to be embarrassed about his submissive nature anymore, especially not if Gerard’s going to react like that.

“Shit, Frankie,” Gerard moans. “Okay, I give up. I don’t care if you’re fucking sick, I’m  _not_ going to be able to wait until tomorrow night to blow you.”

Frank shudders again, and he feels like he should warn Gerard that there’s a chance he won’t be able to get it up, but then Gerard slides down the mattress until he can press open-mouthed kisses to the swallows on Frank’s stomach, and robs Frank of the ability to do anything else but moan meanwhile.

It seems like getting it up again won’t be a problem, because Gerard teases him to full hardness, and then some more until he’s  _aching_  and grinding up into Gerard’s mouth. Or, well, his face, because Gerard doesn’t open up, just keeps licking and mouthing at Frank’s cock until Frank whines, high and needy, and then,  _then_  Gerard takes him into his mouth.

And oh god, that  _mouth_. It stretches obscenely around Frank’s dick, red and wet with spit and precome, and at one point Frank has to close his eyes or he’s certain he won’t be able to hold off his orgasm for more than a few seconds. After a few deep breaths – which aren’t hurting, thank fucking god – he pries his eyes open again, and by that time Gerard has him deep, lips brushing against the coarse hairs around the base of Frank’s dick. He’s swallowing around the head and moaning, sending vibrations through Frank’s entire body, and no amount of deep breaths can stop Frank from coming at that sight.

The fact that Gerard swallows it all doesn’t improve Frank’s stamina in any way, but Frank can’t really bring himself to care, because Gerard just gave him the blowjob of his life and now he gets to kiss his own come off his lips, which should be disgusting but somehow isn’t.

“I think I just came in your pajama pants,” Gerard mumbles as they break apart.

Frank slaps the back of his head; he knows he never should’ve let Gerard borrow his pants. “Gross.”

“You just licked your come off my lips,” Gerard counters.

“Guess I did,” Frank grins.

“Gross,” Gerard says in mock disgust.

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” Gerard says, and really, that’s all Frank needs for encouragement.

He leans in for another kiss, and this time it’s slow and lazy, not at all like the few past ones but still as good, and Frank doesn’t think he’ll ever appreciate breathing as much as he does right now. 


End file.
